| The kid backed to the center of the room and the barman labored |
| over the floor toward him like a man on his way to some chore. He |
| swung twice at the kid and the kid stepped twice to the right. Then |
| he stepped backward. The barman froze. The kid boosted himself |
| lightly over the bar and picked up the pistol. No one moved. He |
| raked the frizzen open against the bartop and dumped the priming |
| out and laid the pistol down again. Then he selected a pair of full |
| bottles from the shelves behind him and came around the end of the |
| bar with one in each hand. |
| The barman stood in the center of the room. He was breathing |
| heavily and he turned, following the kid’s movements. When the kid |
| approached him he raised the bung-starter. The kid crouched lightly |
| with the bottles and feinted and then broke the right one over the |
| man’s head. Blood and liquor sprayed and the man’s knees buckled |
| and his eyes rolled. The kid had already let go the bottleneck and he |
| pitched the second bottle into his right hand in a roadagent’s pass |
| before it even reached the floor and he backhanded the second |
| bottle across the barman’s skull and crammed the jagged remnant |
| into his eye as he went down. |
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